I've felt estranged by religion in my adult life, but my 2 year old sings along to blessings, dances in synagogue, and displays what might even be called a religious fervor
By Anna Solomon
Summer was ending, and the dreaded question slipped up
on us again: where would we go for the High Holidays? Which was inevitably
followed–-after the usual debate over rabbis, distances, and the chances of
there being strange organ music–-by the next question: why go at all?
It had been easy in Park Slope, Brooklyn to find a community of Jewish parents and rollicking Tot Shabbat services without ever having to answer this question, or join a congregation. But in June we'd moved with our 2-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Sylvie, to Providence, Rhode Island. And as August turned into September, we found ourselves at a Friday night open house at a nearby Reform synagogue where everything had been set up outside. The night was warm, the people were friendly, and the barbecue was good. There was even a crafts table for the children.
Then the service began. We sat in the back, next to a family we'd recently met, agreeing that as soon as our kids got antsy, we'd leave.
Sure enough, as soon as the cantor started singing, the children stood up in their seats. Soon, I thought, they'll start to whine, and we can all go off to the lawn on the other side of the synagogue, where the kids can play and the adults can debrief.
But there was no whining. Instead, as if on cue, the children started to dance to the blessings. They bent their knees, rocked their hips, chicken-winged their arms – but gently, as if they knew exactly where they were. Sylvie started to sing along with the cantor. She didn't know most of the words, of course, she just copied them the best she could, her mouth wide open, her body swaying.
Continue reading.
Summer was ending, and the dreaded question slipped up
on us again: where would we go for the High Holidays? Which was inevitably
followed–-after the usual debate over rabbis, distances, and the chances of
there being strange organ music–-by the next question: why go at all? It had been easy in Park Slope, Brooklyn to find a community of Jewish parents and rollicking Tot Shabbat services without ever having to answer this question, or join a congregation. But in June we'd moved with our 2-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Sylvie, to Providence, Rhode Island. And as August turned into September, we found ourselves at a Friday night open house at a nearby Reform synagogue where everything had been set up outside. The night was warm, the people were friendly, and the barbecue was good. There was even a crafts table for the children.
Then the service began. We sat in the back, next to a family we'd recently met, agreeing that as soon as our kids got antsy, we'd leave.
Sure enough, as soon as the cantor started singing, the children stood up in their seats. Soon, I thought, they'll start to whine, and we can all go off to the lawn on the other side of the synagogue, where the kids can play and the adults can debrief.
But there was no whining. Instead, as if on cue, the children started to dance to the blessings. They bent their knees, rocked their hips, chicken-winged their arms – but gently, as if they knew exactly where they were. Sylvie started to sing along with the cantor. She didn't know most of the words, of course, she just copied them the best she could, her mouth wide open, her body swaying.
Continue reading.
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